


The Snow Raven

by Utukki



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Utukki/pseuds/Utukki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After months of searching and planning revenge, Yukishiro Tomoe has finally found her fiance's killer. He is nothing like she imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Snow Raven, Chapter 1  
a Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic  
by Krista Perry 

~*~ 

_A spring rain, scarlet,_  
 _brings death, and hope fades within_  
 _haunted amber eyes._

        - _excerpt from the private diary of Yukishiro Tomoe_

~*~ 

        I know him immediately when I see him. 

        "You will know him by his hair, girl," the old man told me. "Downright unnatural, it is. Hair as red as the blood he has splashed across the shadowed streets of Kyoto with his merciless sword." 

        But the old man was wrong. His hair is not like blood at all. Blood is a heavy, cold, shining color. His hair is, instead, the color of warm flames that linger in the embers of a dying fire; the color of a pale cloud stained scarlet by sunrise before a storm. 

        He is nothing like I imagined. 

        I pictured a huge man, older, with a body thick with muscle and lined with scars of battle. I never once in my darkest imaginings pictured this smooth-faced, flame-haired boy - who seems so slight of frame that it's a wonder he can even heft the swords that hang at his side - as the murderer of my fiance. 

        He sits quietly at the table, staring sightlessly into a cup of sake. And, unlike the other men in the dining house, he doesn't even look up as I enter. 

        I pause only for a moment, then sit at the table next to him, with my back to him. Yet, even now that I can't see him, that first moment is burned into my mind's eye and his image is before me still. 

        I order cold sake, because I have no appetite. And because I feel suddenly, desperately confused. Perhaps a drink will settle my nerves. 

        I can't be confused. Not now, not after all this time, after I've come all this way. 

        He was supposed to be a monster. A mortal demon of blood-lust and evil in a barely-human guise. Not this desolate, empty-eyed man-child, who looks as lost as I feel... 

        I wonder if he can sense me near him. If his killer instincts can perceive my intent toward him... the promise burned on my soul when I first received news of how my beloved Akira-san was slaughtered in the streets of Kyoto by the Ishin Shishi assassin... 

        _I am going to destroy you._

        But the fire behind my conviction, that has burned so brightly ever since I left Edo, seems to pale in his presence. 

        I raise the sake to my lips and drink, feeling deeply ashamed of myself. How can I avenge my loss when I allow myself to be swayed from my purpose simply because he is young? Simply because he doesn't fit my mental image of a brutal hitokiri? 

        He couldn't be more than fifteen... barely a man by law, and little more than a child in stature. At the very least, a full three years younger than myself... 

        So lost am I in these turmoiled thoughts, I notice too late that I have attracted the attention of a pair of truly brutish men. I look up as they saunter drunkenly towards my table, and I cannot fail to notice the irony that the hulking pair more closely resembles my mental image of my fiance's killer than does the boy behind me. 

        "Hey girl," one of them says; a man whose neck is as thick as a tree stump, whose jaw is square and solid as stone. His companion, a man not quite as muscled, his upper teeth protruding over his lower lip, leans over me, and I can smell the overwhelming reek of sake on his breath. "Would you care to join us for a toast?" 

        I return the man's unsteady gaze silently, my answer held within my eyes. Just as well that I am unable to show in my expression the sudden fear that fills my heart. For once, my shielding mask of impassiveness, which hides so well the griefs, joys and desires of my inner soul, serves me well. Better to seem indifferent than afraid with these types, since fear only feeds their aggressive natures. 

        But perhaps not this time. My seeming aloofness infuriates him and his companion. The man with the thick neck slams his fist on the table, yet I don't flinch, even when he shouts in my face. "Look, you ungrateful wench! We are the leaders of the Aizu branch of the Ishin Shishi! We risk our lives and kill for you lowlifes day and night! You owe us!" 

        Terror closes off my throat, and I cannot respond, even if I so desired. Yet, like a Noh performer, my impassive mask remains in place. 

        "Liars," someone across the room mutters softly. "Aizu's on the Shogunate side, you idiots." 

        "What was that?" The man turns towards the speaker, his hand on the hilt of his sword, but whomever it was who dared speak falls silent under that intimidating glare. Even so, I am grateful to them, for turning the attention of these men away from me. 

        The man with the over-bite chuckles. "Never mind. Just a bit of meaningless noise," he says. 

        The brute nods and grins condescendingly at the people who are now cowering before the threat of his blade. "It's someone's lucky day." 

        And he turns towards me again, his previous intent now magnified in his lecherous grin. Oh no, please, no... Please, just leave me alone... 

        Fear tightens my chest, and I can feel my heart pounding in my ears as he reaches for my wrist with a huge beefy hand... 

        "You two are the lucky ones," says a soft, piercing voice behind me, and I feel my breath catch in my throat at the sound of that voice. "If you had drawn your swords, you would be fighting me." 

        "Wha--?" The thick-necked man turns, eyes blazing furiously, grasping the hilt of his sword, ready in his drunken rage to slay the offending speaker... 

        But the boy is already there. Standing, though I never even felt him move from his seat. Dwarfed by the drunken man, who is more than twice his size in both height and breadth. 

        And the boy's eyes are no longer empty. They burn with cold amber fire as, with the lightning-quick movement of one slender hand, he stops the brute from drawing his sword, blocking the pommel with his palm. 

        The huge thick-necked man strains against the boy's hand to unsheathe his sword... and cannot move. 

        I wonder for a brief moment why the huge man doesn't just strike the boy down with his fist, breaking him like a twig... 

        ...but then I see the raw fear in the larger man's eyes as he gazes down at the calm, inhumanly strong stripling before him. And in that moment, I also see the clear understanding in his expression that, if he were to make even the most minuscule threatening movement towards this boy, or anyone else... he would never draw another breath. 

        For the indisputable promise of swift, silent death gleams in the boy's heavy-lidded eyes. 

        "A word of warning," the boy murmurs in that low, silken voice; a gentle sound, yet laced with undeniable threat. "There is yet to be an uprising. There is no place for you hypocrites in Kyoto now. If you value your lives, go back to the country soon." 

        His quiet words seem to melt the fear of the other patrons, restoring their courage in the face of these oppressors. 

        "That's right, that's right!" one man agrees, shaking his fist at the would-be Ishin Shishi. 

        "Stay out of Kyoto, you charlatans!" shouts another. 

        The two men stare about in confusion, and I am amazed at how quickly their threat is reduced to mere bluster in the face of true power. Yet, even now, the larger man snarls, his confusion blossoming into fury in the face of his humiliation, his huge fists clenching-- 

        "Leave," the young man says, so softly this time that only the men and I can hear. "On your own, or with my... assistance. The choice is yours." 

        His narrowed eyes are like seas of molten gold; calm, yet ready to consume in flames anyone foolish enough enter their depths... 

        I have forgotten how to breathe. 

        The large man grinds his teeth. His fists tremble, white-knuckled... then slowly unclench. Eyes lowered, he pushes his way past my table and out the door, his friend following closely behind. 

        The young man watches them leave (when did I start thinking of him as a young man and not a boy?), then reaches inside his sleeve to retrieve a few coins, which he tosses onto the table next to his unfinished food. He nods respectfully to the proprietor as he walks with an unthinking, silent grace towards the door. "Sorry about the trouble," he says. 

        "Oh, not at all!" The old proprietor clutches his serving tray to his chest and bows deeply. "Thank you!" But when he straightens, the young man is already gone into the night. 

        Conversation immediately erupts all around me as I sit motionless, my heart pounding in my chest, my hands tingling as they lay folded on the table before me. 

        "That kid is so strong..." 

        "Yes... Like a warrior of justice." 

        A silly thing to say, I think. The ramblings of someone who has had too much to drink... 

        _Justice..._

        I look down at my hands and see that they are trembling. 

        And I realize, only now that he is gone, that he never even looked at me. 

~*~ 

        There is a storm coming. 

        A cool breeze brushes my hair against my face, and I can smell rain on the wind as I walk slowly through the damp Kyoto night. Clouds, gray as ash, race across the full white face of the moon, and the dark streets gleam wetly from an earlier rainfall. 

        My thoughts are muzzy from the sake. I can't seem to get the image of the boy... of the hitokiri... out of my head... 

        And I can't help but wonder... what his eyes looked like when he killed Akira-san... 

        The wind blows, cold and wet. Thunder rumbles in the distance, yet the rain does not fall. 

        "He died an honorable samurai," my father told me as I knelt numbly, my calligraphy brush still poised, frozen, over the unfinished letter that I had been composing to my beloved. A great black stain of spilled ink spread slowly across the parchment, drowning my half-formed sentiments, sealing them forever away from human sight. Yet I remember the words still. 

        Come home, the letter had said. Think not that because smiles do not come to me easily, that you do not give me joy... 

        "Fighting for the glory of the Shogunate against the Ishin Shishi hitokiri," Father continued. "The reports say that his blade is the only one that has ever left a mark on that bloody assassin..." 

        As if knowing that Akira-san had shed another's blood before he fell would ease my grief, restore my happiness... 

        I could have kept him safe in Edo with tears... or even a single smile... but fear kept my impassive mask firmly in place, driving away the one who would have loved me forever... 

        And now... Now that I have come to avenge him after so much time has passed, the sake clouds my mind so that I cannot even remember his face. 

        Instead, my mind is filled with images of warm red hair. Of cold amber eyes. And a voice like the brush of a butterfly wing against a flower petal... 

        "H-help me! Somebody, help-" 

        My thoughts are jerked into the present by that scream, from the dark street that stretches out before me... and my heart freezes in my chest as I hear the scream abruptly silenced, wetly... followed by the sound of flesh hitting the stone ground... 

        "Nothing personal," says a deep, raspy voice from the darkness, and, even as my blood runs cold with terror, I am filled with a strange sense of relief to discover that it's not the boy. "But you were in my way." 

        I need to run. I need to get away from this place, quickly... 

        "You killed him, though he was no threat." 

        Ah... 

        It's him. He _is_ here... lost in the shadows of the street before me... 

        "He was in my way," the gruff voice repeats. "So... You are the Hitokiri Battousai." 

        I need to run. 

        But I don't. 

        "What do you want?" Even now, his voice, though filled with tension, is low, unassuming. 

        "I know you. I've watched you for a long time. I want... your life." 

        And the sudden, shrill sound of clashing steel fills the night. 

        I cannot move. I cannot run. 

        Not even when the two combatants leap from the shadows before me, even as the moon breaks through the storm clouds, abruptly illuminating the scene in an eerie pale light. 

        The gruff-voiced man is huge, even larger than the men from the tavern. He wields his swords, connected by the hilts with a length of chain, which he has somehow wrapped around the boy's thin frame, pinning his arms to his sides... 

        The huge man throws his katana at the boy's head... but the boy, moving so fast that I can barely see, dodges and catches the thrown sword by its chained hilt, even as the man leaps over him for the killing blow... 

        The boy screams a battle cry as he cleaves the man in half from shoulder to thigh with the chained sword... and blood splatters all over me, from head to foot... 

        The two halves of the man fall to the ground. And the boy lands lightly on his feet, facing away from me... 

        Blood. Blood... So much... 

        I cannot think. 

        There is blood everywhere. In dark rivers on the ground, in splashes against the skin of my hands and face, soaking into my kimono. 

        In rain, that falls from the sky. 

        And, as the loosened chains fall from around his body, he stands with his back to me, but the tenseness in his frame tells me that he knows I am here. 

        " _White plum_ ," I hear him breathe softly. 

        My perfume, I realize with numb surprise... He can pick up its scent amidst all this blood? 

        His shoulders are stooped and tense, and I can almost hear him thinking that I've seen too much, I know too much, I have to die... 

        Strangely, I am not afraid. Perhaps because of the pounding of my heart, my sudden light-headedness, the darkness flickering at the edges of my vision that threatens to swallow my consciousness right there. 

        But I cannot faint now... 

        "I came," I whisper, "out of gratitude for what you did back there." And, as the words leave my lips, I am surprised to discover that they are the truth. 

        He freezes at the sound of my voice. Then, slowly, he turns to face me. His face is pale, stricken with a look of wide-eyed shock. 

        And, as I look at him, eye to eye for the first time... I notice the scar on his left cheek. A thin, dark line that runs from the outer edge of his eye, down to his chin. 

        _...his blade is the only one that has ever left a mark..._

        For a moment, without looking, the body at my feet is the corpse of my beloved. The mist of blood, falling from the sky against my face, is his. 

        And even now, I cannot remember his face... 

        ...for I can only see the startled expression of one who protected me from harm in a small tavern just minutes before. 

        His amber eyes are feral and trapped, like those of a fierce tiger that finds itself unexpectedly caged behind bars of steel. Only I have willingly opened the door, and I stand, waiting. And, as his fist tightens around the hilt of his sword, I can see the tiger struggling to decide whether to leap and tear out the throat of its captor... or stay caged. 

        "It has been raining blood in these tragic times," I say quietly. 

        He pauses, uncertainty suddenly flickering in his wild, wide eyes. 

        "But..." I whisper, "you are the one who brings the rain, aren't you?" 

        Slowly... the feral glow fades from his eyes. And now, he is no longer a hitokiri, but a boy again. 

       _A desolate, empty-eyed man-child--_

        He looks at me in horrified, stricken silence. The sword slides from the loose grip of his limp, bloodstained hand to clatter on the stone ground. 

     _\--who looks as lost as I feel..._

        The darkness swallows me then, and I welcome it. 

~*~ 


	2. Chapter 2

The Snow Raven, Chapter 2  
a Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic  
by Krista Perry 

~*~ 

_Old one, winter touched,_  
 _recalls Death not quite so cold;_  
 _with eyes violet warm._

_\- excerpt from the private diary of Yukishiro Tomoe_

~*~ 

        Sunlight... 

        Warm against my face, shining red through my eyelids... 

        Red... 

        The sudden, dark memory of blood. Of rain. Of falling... into the depths of lost, amber eyes... 

        As the fog of sleep lifts from my mind, my heartbeat quickens in surprise. 

        I am alive. 

        The boy... didn't kill me? 

        I blink against the dawn light filtering through a rice paper window, and discover that I am in strange surroundings. An unfamiliar room. A soft futon beneath me, a blanket draped over me. 

        And he is sitting there. Leaning against the window bench, his shoulders hunched, one hand resting lightly on his bent knee. His head is bowed slightly; his flame hair, lit by the soft morning glow, hangs over closed eyes. A long, slow breath... almost a sigh... whispers through his barely parted lips. 

        Sleeping. 

        Strange, how it never occurred to me that a hitokiri might sleep... like any normal person... 

        And in sleep, he is so... different. The hard set of his jaw has softened, the cold anger that lined his face in the midst of battle has smoothed. 

        Silently, carefully, I sit up, half expecting him to snap awake at my movement. But he doesn't even stir. And as I look at him closer... the slump of his shoulders tells of a deep weariness; an exhaustion within him that surprises me. For I saw not even a hint of such fatigue last night when... 

        ...when he killed that man. When he made the blood rain down upon the night. 

        His sword lies, sheathed, a mere hand's length away. 

        And he is asleep. 

        Vulnerable. 

        My enemy. The one who murdered my beloved. 

        If I had my tanto in my hand at this moment, I could... 

        I could... 

        ... do... nothing. 

        For the sight of him, so peaceful now after the violence of the previous night, makes my soul tremble with a strange aching pain... almost like... 

        Ah... I don't understand... 

        What am I to do now? 

         _Get close to him,_ the old man had said. _Find his weakness. Then come and tell us. We will take your vengeance for you. You do not need to stain your pretty little hands with the blood of this filthy assassin._

        The words echo in my mind, and I cling to them, struggling to renew my sense of purpose. 

        My purpose, that was swept from me so unexpectedly by the sound of this young man's voice, by the stark, haunted look in his eyes... 

        Well. I am close to him now. Opportunity has been flung into my waiting arms, and yet... now... I find myself reluctant to embrace it. 

        Because, rather than killing me, he has brought me here. 

        I am not even sure where "here" is. His home? 

        Why did he bring me here? I saw him kill. He must understand that I know that he is the Ishin Shishi hitokiri. And in these dangerous times, where a treacherous word to the wrong ear can cost lives, even if he chose not to kill me, it would have been smarter, safer for him to just leave me where I fainted on the blood-drenched street. Surely he knows that. 

        Why, then...? 

        I notice that there are books scattered on the floor, and on a small table next to where he sits, motionless. One book on the table lies open and upside down, to mark the page. 

        Ano... Does he like to read? 

        What does a hitokiri do, when he is not killing? 

        I slip from beneath the blanket and, as quietly as possible, fold the blanket and the futon, stacking them neatly in the corner. I pick up the books from off the floor and put them in a straight pile next to the table. 

        He sleeps even now. 

        I am glad. I don't want to be in this room when he wakes up. And I want to find out more about where I am without having to worry about him. 

        About him interfering, that is... 

        Sparing him one last, long glance, I slide the screen door open and step out into a long hall, taking in my surroundings, wondering what I should do next. Hm... too large to be a house. An inn, then? 

        "So, you've emerged at last," says a voice, quiet and tight, and I turn, startled, to find myself looking down at a small, thin, gray-haired old woman who is frowning at me severely. She reaches behind me to slide the door closed, but then pauses as she notices the folded futon and the young man. Still sleeping peacefully. 

        When she turns her gaze on me once again, her eyes are still stern, yet softened by amazement. "Come, girl," she says softly as she closes the door. "You and I must talk." 

        "Yes," I agree. 

        The old woman's frown fades further. "Follow me," she whispers, turning to walk down the hall. "We can talk in the kitchen. I've got important guests to feed, and breakfast to make." Then she mutters, "I've never seen Himura-san sleep so soundly before..." 

        I follow her silently. 

        Himura. His true name, then. Not Hitokiri Battousai. 

        He brought me here. He must have carried me. 

        I wonder... what it felt like. I don't remember... 

        Akira-san never carried me, never held me in his arms like that. He never got the chance... 

        The smell of cooking rice and miso fills the air. The old woman leads me to the kitchen, where several pots of food are boiling over small fires. 

        "There," she says, sliding the kitchen door closed behind us. "We shouldn't disturb him now. That poor boy gets so little sleep as it is. Now then, my name is Okami Yui. I'm the proprietor of this inn." 

        "I am Yukishiro Tomoe," I respond with a polite bow. "I..." 

        I have abandoned my family and station, I have no one, and nothing left to me but my grief, and a desire for vengeance that has become jumbled and confused since ever I looked into the eyes of my fiancé's killer last night... 

        "I am... alone," I whisper. 

        She stares at me for a long moment. "Alone," she repeats. "So alone, that you follow a strange man into the night?" 

        So he told her. She probably knows everything that happened. Which means that she is also aware that I know who he is. "He... saved me from some men..." 

        "Yes, yes, I know all about that." She peers at me intently, her eyes piercing. "What I want to know is... having witnessed the bloodshed for yourself... what do you think of him?" 

        I hesitate. "... I don't know." 

        "Does he frighten you?" 

        "Yes." _But not for the reason you think._

        "Are you planning to leave now?" 

        "... No." 

        Her eyes are hard, her gaze sharp. "Why not? You know who and what he is. He is the Ishin Shishi hitokiri. Even in the midst of this war, his business is bloodshed of the most terrible kind." 

        "I know." 

        "And you want to stay with him now, even knowing that? Why?" 

        Because I'm going to destroy him. Because I cannot bear to destroy him. Because I have seen myself in his eyes, and now I am lost, and I need to find myself again... 

        "Because... he helped me. And I have nowhere else to go." 

        She looks at me for a long moment, as if trying to see beyond my words and into my hidden heart. But I am confident that she cannot see that far, for not even Akira-san, who loved me, ever did... 

        Finally, my answer, or whatever she thinks she sees in my face, seems to satisfy her, for her cold look melts away completely and she looks strangely satisfied. "Ah," she says at last. "I see." And she nods with such knowing look that I almost believe she understands. 

        But how could she, when I don't even understand myself? 

        "Well, then." She gestures for me to sit on a tatami, where two places have been set. "Would you like some breakfast?" 

        I blink in surprise. "Thank you..." 

~*~ 

        The tea is scalding. I hold the ridged cup in my hands, letting its heat soak into my cold fingers before bringing it carefully to my lips. 

        "Now then." Okami-san reaches up to brush a few loose strands of iron-gray hair behind one ear. "Just so you know, I managed to scrub all the blood stains out of your kimono. It's hanging up to dry now, and should be ready this afternoon." 

        So that's what happened to it. I reach down to unconsciously smooth the soft cotton of the clean white yukata that I awoke in. "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience..." As the words leave my mouth, I think how strange it is to apologize for such a thing. How strange it is to be discussing such a thing over breakfast. _Terribly sorry that you had to wash a murdered man's blood from my kimono. And thank you for allowing me to stay in the killer's room for the night..._

        She snorts softly before taking a sip of tea. "No inconvenience, dear. I've washed enough blood-stained clothing in my time to know how to handle a single kimono. And I think I managed to wash most of the blood off your skin, but you'll still want to take a bath later, just in case." 

        My eyes widen. "Then you... I thought that he..." I glance down at myself, and feel a twinge of relief from a fear I didn't even dare voice to myself. 

        Okami-san looks at my face, and chuckles suddenly. "Himura-san, change your clothes? Oh, my, no!" The thought seems to strike her as amazingly funny, for she wipes tears of laughter from the creases around her eyes. "Tomoe-san, he may be a hitokiri, but in... other matters... he is quite the innocent. Until last night, I wasn't sure he even understood what a girl was." 

        I blink, not sure how to respond to such a revelation. 

        "I must say," she continues airily, "I'm quite relieved, frankly. He's always so pale and serious, never really speaking at all unless you address him directly. And last night is the first time I've ever seen him blush! I don't think I'll ever forget the look on his face when I caught him trying to sneak in, carrying you in his arms. His face turned almost the same shade as his hair, I'd say, and he immediately began stuttering explanations..." She chuckles softly, with a fondness that surprises me. 

        Ano... I cannot imagine the dark warrior of last night either blushing or stuttering. 

        Then again... the sleeping boy of this morning... 

        My skepticism must show plainly in my eyes, for she smiles at me with a knowing, almost mischievous glint in her eyes. "Tomoe-san, trust me. I've known him to face some of the most dangerous men alive without fear... and yet I've never seen him quite so relieved as when I took the situation under control and sent him off to get cleaned up. Believe me, my dear, your virtue is safe around him. I think he would rather have let you sleep bloodied for a night than dare try cleaning you himself." 

        "Oh..." I look down briefly to gaze into my tea... not quite sure how to feel about her assurances. Relieved, yes. But also... 

        "Anyway, down to business," she says, her face becoming serious once again, though it lacks the hardness of suspicion that it held previously. 

        "Ano..." I say quickly. "I would consider it a great honor if you would allow me to earn my keep by helping you with cooking and cleaning." 

        She smiles. "I would much appreciate that, dear. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about." 

        I blink. "Then..." 

        "It's about Himura-san," she says. "And why I am going to let you stay." 

        "Ah..." I set down my cup with hands that tremble slightly. A part of me wants to know... But another part of me is afraid. If I know more about him, if he becomes even more human in my eyes, how can I... 

        And another part of me whispers that it is already too late... 

        The old woman drops her gaze and softly taps her chopsticks against her rice bowl absently. "You have seen his eyes," she murmurs. 

        After a moment, I realize that it is a question. "Yes..." 

        "Oh, Tomoe-san," she says, her quiet voice suddenly thin with distress. "If only you knew... if only you had seen him before..." 

        A small knot of sick dread begins to form in my stomach. "Before?" 

        "I've known him for over a year now," Okami-san says quietly. "Ever since Kogoro-sama brought him to Kyoto to be the hitokiri for the Ishin Shishi. He was only fourteen." 

        Her words wash over me like ice water. I was right, then. Just a child... 

        "He was quiet then as well, and so serious, but oh, such a sweet boy. He even helped me around the inn. He was always washing dishes, cleaning the floorboards, and doing laundry without even being asked, before that first..." She trails off, shakes her head and smiles wistfully, though there is a hint of sadness in the expression. "And his eyes... You could never tell now, but they were the most gentle lavender color..." She pauses, rubbing her forehead with thin, wrinkled fingers. "He might be the hitokiri, and heaven knows how badly we need him. But just a year ago, he was a child in every way that mattered. Full of idealism and excitement and... innocence... compassion..." 

        That last is said with a grief that pulls at my heart, and yet... 

        And yet, I can't believe her. How could the killer that I saw last night possibly have been what she says? Far more likely that he was a delinquent boy, angry at everyone and everything, looking for an excuse to lash out in his pain... 

        ...like another young, angry boy I know... 

        "I raised three sons," Okami-san says, as if reading my mind. She is looking at me again, her gaze heavy. "I know what boys are like. Rowdy and raucous, often selfish and light-minded... But not Himura-san. Oh, what I would give if those three big louts of mine had even half his soul..." 

        And in spite of myself, perhaps because of the insistence in her voice, I try to imagine him as she describes him. I try to think of him with eyes not burning cold, or lost and empty... but warm and full of compassion... 

        Eyes like... Akira-san's... 

        The cup begins to slide from my numb fingers. Quickly, I place the palm of my left hand underneath to keep it from falling. 

        Ah... why won't my hands stop shaking? 

        "Poor boy," Okami-san whispers. Oh, I want so badly for her to be silent, finished, to not speak any more about him. But she denies my unspoken wish. "He wanted so badly to help people..." 

        "Wanted..." I repeat, noticing the past tense, knowing even as I do that I am grasping at shadows. "Does... he no longer..." 

        All murderers were once innocent, after all. No matter how pure his past, it changes nothing for me, if now... 

        "Oh no," she says firmly. "Of course he still wants to help. But..." She trails off, and though I am anxious to hear her capitulation, I sit silently and wait for her to continue. 

        "...but all those deaths," she says wearily. "And he's still so young... but now, so old... 

        "...and... his eyes..." 

        The way she speaks... her voice full of an undefinable ache. As if she knows how I felt when I saw him. 

        Perhaps it is not just me. Perhaps _anyone_ who looks into those eyes will be lost... 

        And Okami-san is talking again, only her once-sharp gaze is clouded and distant. 

        "I'll never forget the day he came home after his first... assignment. His eyes had lost all their life and warmth; the violet had faded to an almost translucent gray. I was startled, and I asked him if he was all right... 

        "And he said, I'm fine. Anyway, it doesn't matter, does it? I have to fight for the new era. That is all.' 

        "I think I remember crying for him then..." 

        She is crying for him now. But her gaze is so distant, I wonder if she even knows. The slow, leaking tears are lost in the deep creases around her eyes... 

        "And after each new assignment, I could see even the flickering gray of his eyes slowly being swallowed, eaten away by a terrible flat, cold amber... 

        "Poor boy," she whispers. "Poor boy..." 

        No more. I can't bear it. "Why," I ask finally, "are you telling me this?" 

        She starts at the sound of my voice, and stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, as if seeing me for the first time. Then, slowly, she shakes her head, and one withered hand flutters at her temple, as if brushing away the memories as one would shoo a moth. When she raises her gaze to meet mine once more, her old eyes are again sharp and clear. She either doesn't notice, or simply ignores the tear tracks on her wrinkled skin. 

        "Because," she answers. "Last night, for the first time since he became the hitokiri, I saw the barest glimmer of true life within his eyes once again." 

        Ah. 

        Oh dear... 

        "And _that_ ," she says, nodding at me sharply, "is why I am allowing you to stay." 

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

The Snow Raven, Chapter 3  
a Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic  
by Krista Perry 

~*~ 

_For the hope of warmth_  
 _my cold, vengeful hand is stayed._  
 _Crimson rain falls still..._

_\- excerpt from the private diary of Yukishiro Tomoe_

~*~ 

  
        I help Okami-san prepare breakfast in silence, holding my turbulent thoughts and feelings within myself by keeping my hands busy. An easy task, since there is much to do. Apparently, I am not the only visitor here. Kogoro Katsura, the leader of the Choshu branch of the Ishin Shishi, and many of his men, spent the night at this inn. 

        As if being under the same roof as their young hitokiri was not enough... 

        I care nothing for their causes... their wars -- these men who do not desire to honor the old ways, and cause so much bloodshed because of their discontent... 

        I remember quite clearly how my father felt about these men. Too old and frail to fight with the rest of the Shogunate army, Father railed against these rebels loudly and often, in the privacy of our home, as if his words alone were strong enough to reach across distances and strike them all dead. He seethed over their lack of respect for the old ways of honor and glory; of their hatred for Japan, that they should dare to reject its divine heritage and desire to embrace the ways of the very foreign invaders who would rob us of our pride and identity... 

        And when the news of Akira-san's death reached us, Father's rants increased in frequency, even as they lessened in volume. Rather than shouting his hatred of the Ishin Shishi to the sky, he whispered it to the walls with such intensity that it seemed to charge the atmosphere like lightning before the fury of a thunderstorm. 

        I am still not sure which of his methods of expressing his wrath was more disturbing. 

        Perhaps Father's quieted version of his rage was out of reverence for the dead; perhaps out of respect for me, and my flat-eyed, white-faced grief. But I payed him little heed. After all, it was not the Ishin Shishi cause that killed my beloved. It was a single man... 

        Wasn't it? 

        Ah, so many things have changed... so many of my preconceived notions have been shattered ever since I found him, though it has been little more than a few hours... 

        I check the rice pot, stirring it a little to see if the rice is tender and sticky enough to serve. Yes, nearly done... 

        And as I begin to press the rice into the serving bowls with a wide wooden spoon, Okami-san's words from only a few minutes previous fill my head. He wasn't always the Hitokiri Battousai... but a boy only barely a man, warm and quiet and full of life, only wanting to help people... 

        ...taken because of his talent with the sword, and stripped of his soul to become a weapon more sharp and cold and deadly than any mere blade alone. 

        Perhaps it is not the Battousai I should hate for the murder of my fiance, but the cause that wields him... 

        But if I hate the cause, must I not also hate the weapon? 

        A killing sword can be forged of harmless metal... and, once destroyed, the sword can no longer hurt anyone else... 

        Is it possible to take the weapon from the hand of the wielder? 

        I can feel Okami-san watching me as I place the food on the trays, then carefully stack the trays, one atop the other. She comes up behind me and lays a withered hand on mine, stopping my work. 

        "I'm so glad you came," she says. "The other men... most of them have women to soothe their hearts in these terrible times, but... Himura-san has always been so alone..." 

        I know what she is implying - what she must assume from my very behavior. That, because he saved me last night, and because I myself am alone... I have chosen to be his. 

        Well, it is true enough, I realize. Amidst all my turmoil, it is the one thing, the single course of action of which I am certain. 

        I belong to him now, whether he wants me or not. He decided that himself, when he killed Akira-san. And when he foolishly... kindly... brought me, a complete stranger, into his own home, rather than leave me on the bloody streets... 

        My heart is torn between these two inexplicably opposite actions. And I need time... time to sort through my confusion... 

        So I will stay with him for a while. 

        " _Okami-san!_ " 

        I pause, startled, as I hear his voice, which has already become so familiar though I have only heard him speak a few times, calling urgently from down the hall. And... there is a trace of panic in his tone that surprises me. 

        Okami-san looks up at his shout. "Ah, it seems your young man is awake at last." Then she turns and raises an eyebrow at me, even as a smile quirks at the edges of her thin, wrinkled lips. "And missing you already, from the sound of it." 

        I am determined not to blush. 

        He is coming. I can hear his footsteps drumming swiftly down the long hallway. 

        And suddenly my heart is pounding. Out of nervousness? Fear? 

        Something else...? 

        "Okami-san, where--!" The door slides open and he freezes, his mouth hanging open in mid-word, his eyes wide with shock as he sees me. 

        "Why, good morning, Himura-san," Okami-san says cheerfully in the face of his stupefaction. "I must say, this girl you brought home last night isn't at all what I first thought. She's a big help." And so saying, she turns to me, handing me the stacked breakfast trays. "Please take these to Matsu's room." 

        "Alright." 

        I force myself to be calm, and try to ignore the fact that he is staring at me. A brief glance at his face reveals in his expression a mixture of astonishment... and annoyance. 

        So. Surprised that I haven't run away, are you? And yet irritated to see that I have already made myself at home? 

        And yet, I am surprised as well. In the light of day, in these strange, awkward circumstances, he is so different. His eyes are still pale amber... almost colorless. And, standing next to him now, I can see that he is barely taller than I am... But the look on his face... 

        He closes his eyes and presses the tips of his fingers through the tangle of his scarlet hair to his forehead, as if to ward off the stirrings of a headache. 

        "... Errr..." he says. 

        I cannot possibly imagine what he might have to say to me at this moment. 

        Perhaps he cannot imagine either, for nothing else seems to be forthcoming. 

        And, looking at him now, so completely flummoxed, I feel something flicker within me... something that seems almost like ...muted amusement. 

        Ah... Perhaps Okami-san was being truthful about him blushing and stuttering last night... 

        The thought fills me with a strange, warm calm. 

        Mm. Well, I might as well let him know what has developed while he was sleeping. 

        "My name?" I say presumptuously, knowing even as the words come out of my mouth that I am about to cross the boundaries of familiarity. But what better way to let him know where I now stand with him? "You may call me Tomoe." 

        He blinks, stunned. Yes, he is taken aback that I have given him my most intimate name as the means of addressing me. 

        "Um... Tomoe- _san_ ," he says finally, emphasizing the far less-intimate honorific with barely veiled exasperation. "What in the world do you think you're doing?" 

        So he doesn't want to play along willingly? Very well then. 

        "Can't you tell?" I say, turning away from him to walk down the hall with the breakfast trays. 

        He falls into step behind me. "... Helping around the kitchen?" 

        "You're very observant." 

        "Look," he says, and I can tell from his voice that his patience is wearing thin. "I need to talk to you right now." 

        "I'm busy, so you'll have to talk to me later." 

        "This can't wait." 

        "Is this Matsu's room?" I ask, stopping outside a screen door. 

        Frustration flares across his face as he realizes that any further conversation would probably be overheard by the men on the other side of the door. 

        "Yes," he replies tightly. 

        I nod my thanks, then kneel down on the mat outside the door, placing the trays in front of me. 

        "Please excuse me," I say to the men I am about to serve, sliding the door open with both hands. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting." 

        Apparently, my presence here is a surprise to no one, for I am met with a literal wall of men, all trying to get a good look at me. 

        " _Oooooh_!" 

        "So this is Himura-kun's woman!" 

        I blink. Ano... has Okami-san been here before me? Or are they already assuming, since he brought me home last night... 

        And poor Himura. His head is swivelling back and forth between me and the men, a faint look of panic gleaming through his confounded demeanor as the men continue to comment loudly, oblivious of his discomfort. 

        "She's a beauty!" 

        "She's older!" 

        "And she's so polite, just like Himura." 

        And now he is looking only at me, his pale eyes almost desperate and pleading, as if waiting for me to do what any innocent young woman would do in such a situation, and politely deny their rash assumptions about our relationship. 

        But I will do no such thing. 

        "I'm Tomoe," I say, bowing towards the men. "It's a pleasure to meet you." 

        "Hey, hey, _hey_!" Himura shouts at me in dismay, shedding all pretense of courtesy in that moment. "What are you _doing_?!" 

        I only glance at him for a moment. He is angry, yes. 

        But... ano... 

        He _is_ blushing. 

        For some reason, I feel inexplicably pleased. 

        And the damage is done, for a tall, lanky man, with a thin mustache and droopy eyes, has already draped one arm around Himura's shoulder in a gesture of male camaraderie. "Hey, why so shy, you big stud, you?" 

        "Iidzuka-san..." Himura growls, his voice gaining a dangerous edge even as his blush deepens another shade. 

        Hm, from the mischevious grin on Iidzuka-san's face, it would seem things are about to go beyond the boundaries of politeness, so I think I'll take that as my cue to leave... 

        And not a moment too soon, for as I pad quietly down the hallway, I hear Iidzuka-san's roguish question: "So, kid... how was it?" 

        His reply is the instant snap of a sword being loosened from it's scabbard for unsheathing-- 

        --and I hear a startled yelp from Iidzuka-san. 

        "Careful, careful! Easy, kid, I'm just kidding!" And then, softer, "Sheesh... I forgot that he's the Battousai." 

        I freeze in my own steps. 

        Forgot... 

        Yes. For a few moments there, as I was with him... teasing him... I... forgot who he was. 

        And I feel my own eyes widen slightly as I realize that, if only for a little while, the haze of grief and pain that has clouded my heart for so long... was also forgotten... 

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

The Snow Raven, Chapter 4  
a Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic  
by Krista Perry 

~*~ 

         _Akira-san..._

        I clutch the broom until my knuckles are white, and sweep the smooth wooden floor with swift, hard strokes, focusing solely on removing every last speck of dirt from the floor. 

        Clean. Clean. Clean. 

         _Beloved..._

        I clench my eyes shut briefly as the burning ache of my own betrayal threatens to rend my heart. 

        Don't think. Don't... 

        The floor is clean. More than clean. I can see myself, pinched and pale, in the polished wooden surface. 

        Ano... I... cannot be seen like this... with my mask of ice melting under the white heat of anger... fear... 

        If he sees me now, he will know. He will know the truth of why I came to him... 

        I need to work. Work will occupy my hands, my mind... 

        Perhaps... perhaps Okami-san needs help in the kitchen... 

        Broom in hand, I walk slowly through the long halls. The purposeful movement calms me, giving me the chance to once again blank my face and deaden my eyes, allowing me to hide my feelings and intents from perceptive eyes. As I pass by each partitioned room, I can hear the muted sound of men talking in low, intent voices, whispering through the rice paper doors as I pass by... 

        I wonder where he is now. In one of these rooms? Discussing war campaigns and strategies with the Ishin Shishi leaders? Preparing to shed the blood of more people who are helpless before the demonic power of his blade? 

        I enter the kitchen and slide the door closed behind me with relief. 

        Okami-san is not here. But there is a pile of unwashed rice bowls and sake cups in a wash bucket... 

        My hands move with swift automation. Soak. Scrub. Rinse. Dry. Don't think. 

        Don't. 

        Don't think about how, just a few minutes earlier, you enjoyed being in the presence of your beloved's killer... How his young, scarred face and intense crystalline gaze filled your mind and heart so that you could think of nothing else... 

        A rice bowl slips from my shaking fingers to shatter on the floor. I am on my knees in an instant, picking up the large shards, fighting the fear that is rising in my chest at the bad omen that I myself have precipitated... 

        "Tomoe-san?" I look up to see Okami-san enter the kitchen. She looks down at me and the shattered bowl. 

        "Go... gomen nasai," I whisper, looking up at her, struggling desperately to keep my calm mask in place. "I was careless, and I dropped it..." 

        "Don't worry about it, dear," she says kindly, as she takes the broom from the wall to sweep up the scattered slivers of glazed pottery into a small pile. "Accidents happen. Heaven knows these old hands of mine have been guilty of dropping a rice bowl or three." 

        She is being too kind to me. _Don't you know who I am?_ I want to shout at her. _With all the wisdom of age, can you not see that you have welcomed a viper into your midst? My bite may not draw blood nor leave a mark, but the poison is sure and deadly all the same. And the murderer Himura, whom you love like a son, will surely perish because of it..._

        "Did you see him?" she asks suddenly, startling me, and I glance at her, almost sure that the guilt I feel is plain on my face. But no... she is smiling. 

        "See who?" I ask carefully. 

        "Kogoro-sama," she says eagerly, sweeping the last of the ceramic shards onto a folded piece of rice paper. "He was in Matsu's room when you served them breakfast." 

        Ah. The leader of the Choshu Ishin Shishi. "Ano... there were so many men in that room..." 

        She clucks her tongue. "Oh, you would know him if you saw him. He's easy enough to pick out of a crowd." A small smile curls the corners of her wrinkled lips. "Tall, handsome, with the face of a god, and the bearing of an emperor." 

        I blink, surprised at the muted gleam in her eyes. "Ano..." 

        She raises an eyebrow, and frowns in disappointment. "If you have to think about it, you didn't see him." She sighs, and slides open the back door to toss the clay debris out into the dirt. "Ah, well." She smiles again and shrugs her thin, frail shoulders. "I just thought it might be nice if you could catch a glimpse of the man who is going to change the destiny of Japan." 

        "Ah," I say, with a nod and a slight smile. It seems to be the appropriate response. "Well, there will be other opportunities to meet him, I'm sure." 

        "Indeed." She dusts off her hands, and glances around at the clean kitchen with approval. "Hm, well now. You really are a wonderful help, my dear. But I think you've done enough for today. Why don't you go take a bath now? After everything you've been through, you deserve a nice hot soak." 

        For the first time in what seems like ages, a small, genuine smile touches my lips. A bath _does_ sound wonderful... 

~*~ 

        Just entering the bath house is relaxing. The air is warm and moist with steam. Okami-san has left me a clean yukata, and some hair needles. With practiced ease, I pin my hair atop my head, then remove my work-worn yukata, letting it fall to the floor around my ankles. 

        I bend to pick it up... 

        ...and freeze, my skin growing cold in spite of the warm room... 

        Okami-san was right. In spite of how well she cleaned me up last night while I was unconscious, she apparently preserved my modesty as much as possible... for I can see that there is still a dead man's blood on my skin... 

        Moments later, I find myself sitting on a stool, pouring buckets of frigid well water over my body, watching in numb, almost mesmerized fascination as the reddish-brown flakes dissolve and wash away. The water, swirling down the floor drain to soak back into the earth, is tinged pink. 

        Shivering... I rinse myself thoroughly, again and again until the water that flows off my pale skin runs clear and untainted... 

        Ano... That's... better... 

        Closing my eyes, I ease myself into the hot and steaming bath, submerging myself up to my chin. It feels soothing against my aching, weary muscles... and yet I cannot stop shivering. 

        Himura... 

         _You killed that man with the ferocity and ease of a wild beast. Your eyes blazed feral gold in the darkness..._

_And yet, this morning when you spoke to me, you seemed... such a boy. An innocent, almost... Such a contradiction from who you were last night, that I couldn't even see you as the same person..._

_How can this be? When the moment of death and destruction is passed... how do you feel?_

_Is there no remorse, no grief that touches your heart? Do the murders mean nothing to you? Are you truly nothing more than a soulless shell, a killing tool for the Ishin Shishi?_

        ... 

        The memory of haunted amber eyes fill my mind... 

        ... 

         _Or... does each death imprint itself deep within your young heart?_

_Do you remember the names of those you have killed, whose blood has stained your hands? Do you remember their faces?_

_Do you remember... Akira-san?_

_And... if you_ do _remember... how can you bear to live? What is it that drives you to continue?_

_I cannot tell. I do not understand you._

_You frighten me so..._

        Ano... The water is cooling. How long have I been sitting here? 

        ... I need to go back. Okami-san must be wondering if I have drowned in here... 

~*~ 

        The feel of a clean yukata against my skin is comforting, in a strange way, as is the feel of the polished wooden floor beneath my bare feet as I walk down the hall towards the kitchen. 

        And as I approach the sliding door... I suddenly hear his voice. Low... yet clearly upset... and faintly pleading. 

        "...is ridiculous. Just... can't she stay somewhere else?" 

        I pause just outside the door... and listen. 

        "There _is_ nowhere else," Okami-san's voice explains patiently. "With Kogoro-sama here, all the rooms are full. We haven't a one to spare." 

        Eavesdropping is not polite, I know. However, since I seem to be the topic of conversation... 

        "But... she can't stay in my room!" 

        "Why not? She stayed there last night, and you had no complaint." 

        "That was different!" 

        "How so?" 

        "Well, she was... unconscious." 

        "And now she is awake to appreciate your hospitality." Okami-san's sly tone leaves no doubt as to her meaning. 

        He splutters. "Wh-what? No, that's just it! I don't _want_ to give her... uh... hospitality!" 

        "Then why did you bring her here last night?" Okami-san asks coyly. 

        "What was I supposed to do, leave her? She practically fainted right into my arms!" 

        "My, how romantic!" 

        A pained groan. "Okami-san..." 

        "I'm sorry, Himura-san," Okami-san says, her voice losing its teasing tone, "but there is no other alternative. You brought her home, therefore she is your responsibility. She must stay in your room." 

        "But--" 

        "No 'buts'. You brought her here, and she has chosen to stay with you. That means that your room is her room. If you do not like the arrangement, you must take it up with her." 

        Silence. Then, a heavy sigh. "Fine. I will." 

        So intent am I on the conversation, I don't even have time to move when I hear him walk towards the door. He slides it open... and blinks, startled, as we once again look at each other face to face, eye to eye... 

        "T...Tomoe-san," he says. And a faint blush -- of embarrassment or anger, I cannot tell \-- spreads across his face as he realizes that I must have heard at least the end of his conversation. 

        I incline my head towards him politely, my mask in place, though my heart is thudding so hard within my chest, I'm sure he must be able to hear it. "Himura," I reply softly. 

        He swallows hard once, twice... and then his flustered features harden with determination. 

        "Okami-san says you are through with your chores," he says with surprising calm, "so I presume you have no other pressing engagements?" 

        "None." Oh dear... There's no putting it off now. Am I ready for this? 

        He nods sharply. "Good. Then we need to talk." 

        Without waiting for a reply, he walks past me. I follow silently, inwardly steeling myself for what is to come. 

        I cannot be weak now. I am confused by him, frightened of him... but he cannot know that. He must not know that. 

        I must stay with him, no matter what. 

        He is heading for the garden. But, as he slides open the door to the outside, a flash of dismay flickers across his face as he sees that the garden is already occupied by several of his comrades. He closes the door quickly before they can turn and see us standing together in the hallway. 

        "Perhaps," I suggest, keeping my voice carefully neutral, "we would have the privacy for discussion that you seek... in your room." 

        He glances at me, irritated... and then he sighs. "Right. Come on, then," he says in a manner that clearly communicates, _I can't wait to get this over with._

        His room is not as I left it. While the futon is still folded neatly in the corner, I notice that some of his books are once again scattered about on the table, and I wonder when he found time to read today. Does reading... ease him? Does it, perhaps, take his mind off the grim nightmare of his existence? 

        I kneel on the tatami mat, expecting him to do the same... but instead, he paces for a moment, as if unsure what to do with himself... then he goes and sits on the window bench. His display of nervousness eases my own fears a bit, and I feel my own resolve harden. 

        Himura... desolate, emotionally scarred man-child, or heartless killer... whoever you are, you will not be rid of me until I know for sure. 

        He takes a deep breath. "Tomoe-san..." 

        "Yes?" I look at him expectantly, and he sighs again, closing his eyes, and bowing his head so that his flame-red hair falls about his face, partially obscuring the long scar on his cheek. 

        "So..." he says at last. "Swear you'll forget everything that happened last night." He looks at me, waiting for me to respond. 

        I don't. 

        "Um," he adds uncomfortably, "I'd like you to be on your way now." 

        I blink, taken aback by his bluntness. Ano... he certainly isn't one to beat around the bush... 

        "Am I an annoyance to you here?" I ask innocently, knowing full well the answer. "Okami-san likes me," I add, as if that alone should qualify me for permanent residency within his personal quarters. 

        He looks at me then, his piercing amber gaze perplexed. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, as if struggling to find a suitable rebuttal. 

        "...Your family must be worried," he says finally. 

        His words send searing daggers of loss and guilt into my heart. 

        "If I had a family to go home to," I say, with painful honesty, "then I wouldn't have been out all alone getting drunk." 

        At that, he closes his eyes, a pained expression on his face. "Look," he says, his exasperation suddenly tempered with a softness that surprises me. "I don't know what's going on with you and your personal life. I'm sorry if you're in trouble. But in case you haven't noticed, there is a _war_ going on. We're in no condition to look after you right now." 

        For a moment, I almost falter. For a moment, his unexpected sympathy for my plight almost makes me feel guilty for imposing upon him... 

        But then, I suddenly wonder where that compassion was, when he forever deprived me of my beloved... 

        "What will you do, then, if I refuse to leave?" I say with deliberate slowness. "Will you finish me off? Like the dark samurai you were last night?" 

        The bluntness of my question takes him off guard, and he tenses with anger. For a brief moment, I see a fleeting glimmer of killing fury in his eyes, and the sudden primal fear it sparks within me is raw and terrible... 

        But then the glimmer is gone from his eyes so quickly that I wonder if perhaps I didn't imagine it -- that I only expected such a reaction from him because of my brazen, insulting question. Though my rapid pulse says otherwise... 

        It is a forceful reminder to me. This is no mere youth before me, but the Hitokiri Battousai. And I am playing a dangerous game here, in trying to unravel the puzzle of his existence... 

        I must be careful. And yet, I cannot be gentle with him, either... 

        "Look," he says sharply, though his anger, to my relief, does not seem murderous, but merely defensive. "Think whatever you like, but I kill for a new era that will let everyone live peacefully. It's not like I kill regardless of who it is. I only fight armed Shogunate members. And even if the townspeople are indeed enemies, I would never kill anyone who was unarmed." 

        "Ah," I say with a strange calmness, as if we were discussing the merits of tea, rather than murder. "So, you would kill people, good or bad, if they were simply holding a sword?" 

        The question seems to strike him like a blow. He blinks at me in silent shock. 

        His stunned reaction is a revelation to me. 

        Ah... I see. He has not thought about it that way before. And he doesn't like the idea, phrased in such a manner. No, not at all. 

        "If that is the case," I persist quietly, looking directly into his wide amber eyes, "then... if I had a sword in my hand at this moment... would you kill me now?" 

        He stares at me in silence... and I can see no ready answer within his stricken countenance. 

        That alone is disturbing enough to shake me to the core. 

        "I see," I say quietly, rising to my feet with a steadiness that surprises me. "Well then. Someday, when you find the answer... by all means, please let me know." 

        And with that, I leave the room, leaving him to stare at the door as I slide it closed behind me. 

        Only when I am gone does he once again find his voice. "Wa... wait!" he calls after me. "Do you really intend to stay here?" 

        I don't respond. My presence in his room tonight, I muse grimly, will be answer enough. 

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

The Snow Raven, Chapter 5  
a Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic  
by Krista Perry 

~*~ 

_Crush the wounded soul_  
 _or heal with compassion's balm..._  
 _Means to the same end?_

_\- excerpt from the private diary of Yukishiro Tomoe_

~*~ 

        Himura is avoiding me. 

        I do not know whether to feel frustrated... or relieved. But I suppose I should not be surprised after our unpleasant exchange nearly two weeks ago. 

        I wonder if he is thinking about what I said? 

        Well, whether he is or not, he is clearly frustrated that I refuse to leave; that I have taken up permanent residence within his own personal sanctuary. 

        He... could force me to leave. Of that, I am sure. It is definitely within his power. 

        But he does not. And when I briefly told Okami-san the result of what had happened between us that first night, she only chuckled and said, "I knew he wouldn't have the heart to throw you out." 

        Well... perhaps not. But he is still avoiding me. 

        Each evening, when my chores are finished, I go to his room... and he is not there. I suspect he slips out the window when he hears me coming. As to where he goes, and what he does all night while I sleep on his futon inside his room, I do not know. 

        I do not think he is... killing. For I know he only kills when he is attacked... or when he is given an assignment... and I do not think he has been given an assignment since my arrival. I don't know why I think this, but... there is just a feel about him. A tenseness. A waiting. And with each day that passes... the feeling builds. 

        Aside from this, Okami-san has told me that her laundry has lately been free of bloodstains. 

        I wonder if he just wanders the Kyoto streets at night. He seems like a confused ghost, haunting the inn only during daylight hours, and fleeing with nightfall. All to avoid my company. 

        Whatever he does in his nocturnal absence, he is not sleeping. Each morning, when I rise to make breakfast, the very next time I pass by his room, without fail, I find him there again, sitting against the window bench with his swords in his lap, his head bowed against his chest as he dozes. 

        Like now. 

        I slide the door open with my broom in hand, making no effort to be quiet, and he lifts his head, immediately alert, and clearly annoyed at my intrusion. 

        "I'm going to clean," I tell him plainly. "Please leave the room for a while." 

        He grunts, not moving from his perch against the window. "I never asked you to clean." 

        "There is a buildup of nearly two weeks' worth of dust in here," I explain, "because until now, I have not disturbed you in your strange sleeping habits. I wouldn't disturb you even now, but Okami-san asked me to take care of it." 

        Himura sighs heavily, and runs one hand through his red bangs as he stands with irritated resignation, and I silently thank Okami-san for the small power that just mentioning her name gives me. I doubt that I could have budged him otherwise. 

        Hanging his swords at his side, he then looks over at the small table where his books are scattered, and reaches down, apparently looking for some suitable reading material to pass the time during his unwilling displacement. His hand pauses over a blank white book... 

        ... and I feel my breath catch in my throat as he picks it up curiously. 

         _Oh no! I forgot to put it away last night!_

        "That's my diary," I say, hoping that the sudden panic I feel doesn't reflect in my voice. "I would rather you didn't read it." 

        Ano... that was the wrong thing to say, because Himura's eyes widen further with inquisitiveness as he looks at the book in his hands... 

        ...right before I come up to him and pluck it from his loose grip. 

        We look at each other a moment. My mask is in place... but his expression, as usual, is easily read, and he seems quite perplexed and annoyed... especially when I tuck the book in the front of my obi, away from his curious gaze. "For safe keeping," I say, turning away. And then I pretend to occupy myself with sweeping the floor for a moment, waiting to see how he will respond. 

        But he doesn't say a word. He merely walks out the door. The feeling of his near-palpable vexation follows after him. 

        Only then do I sigh with relief. And then, looking at the table, I realize... 

        Hm... he forgot to take a book with him. 

        I do not think he will come back for one. He is too proud... and too angry with me. 

        I suppose he'll find something else to occupy his time while he waits for me to clean the room, but still... 

        Why do I feel so guilty? Because, once again, I have driven him away from the only place where he might have a bit of peace? 

        Does he even deserve peace? 

        But if he doesn't... why do I feel so guilty? 

        I sweep the floor listlessly for a bit... 

        Then, without thinking, I rest the broom against the wall, and look over the books, picking up the one I remember seeing open most recently, and go out into the hallway. 

        I don't know which way he went. But, turning, I see Iidzuka-san, Himura's lanky, droopy-eyed comrade, as he walks out the front entrance, and I decide to look that way first. 

        I turn the corner... and see Himura standing in the hall, straight and rigid, like a statue. 

        "There you are," I say, as I walk up to him, holding out the book in my hand... 

        ... and then I see his face. 

        His eyes are hard and flat. His jaw is set tight. He is staring at his hands. Instinctively, my eyes follow his, and I see that, in one hand, he holds... a black envelope. 

        A black envelope... 

        My blood turns to ice in my veins as I suddenly understand... 

        For some reason I can barely comprehend, I am still holding out the book. "I... I thought you might want..." I cannot finish my sentence. The words are catching in my throat. The sight of that black envelope fills me with such dread that I cannot breathe. 

        Himura wordlessly takes the book from my hands. His head is lowered, his bangs shadow his eyes. The black envelope lies crushed within his fist. 

        He knew I was coming. He could have hidden it in his sleeve. 

        He allowed me to see it. He wants me to know. 

         _Why?_ I want to ask. _Do you think to frighten me so that I'll leave you alone? How can I? How can I leave you alone now that I know... now that I know that..._

        "...Someone is going to die tonight," I whisper. 

        There is a name within that envelope. The name of a walking dead man... someone who doesn't know that he only has a few more hours of life left to him. Does he have a family? A wife and children, perhaps? 

        A fiancee? 

        "This is war," Himura says, his voice quiet and lifeless. "People die in wars. People... kill in wars. But... if it means a better life for everyone later on..." 

        "For everyone except the dead," I say. "And those the dead leave behind." 

        He looks up at me, then... and his face is a mask as flat and emotionless as mine. 

        "I do what needs to be done," he says, his voice hardening with conviction. 

        I cannot think of anything to say to that... 

        "Let me know when you are through cleaning," he says, tucking the book that I gave him under one arm. "I'll be in the garden." 

        And then he turns and walks away. 

        I stare after him silently. 

        When he is gone... I return to his room. 

        And I clean. 

~*~ 

        The night comes all too quickly. 

        Okami-san noticed my tense expression earlier, and asked me what was wrong. When I told her, her face paled, and she nodded tightly. "I was wondering when the next one would be. It's been a while. I was hoping..." 

        A while... It has only been two weeks since he killed that man who attacked him in the streets. How long is a while? How often do these "assignments" come, dressed in black envelopes, heralding yet another rain of blood on the Kyoto night? 

        Himura is already gone when I enter his room. The window is still open slightly, and the cool night air flows around me, causing my lamp to flicker briefly in the breeze. 

        I can't sleep. 

        He is out there, in the dark, right now. Killing someone. The name in that black envelope. 

        Probably some high-ranking Shogunate official. Someone who stands in the way of the Ishin Shishi rebellion. 

        His eyes are probably wild and feral amber now, all his humanity buried beneath his fierce conviction that, for some greater good that he can only imagine, he must kill. Kill, not with the desperate slaughter of the battlefield... but with careful, calculated deliberation. Stalking his victims. Calling them by name. Telling them, as he steps from the shadows, his burning eyes flat and soulless, that he comes to deliver divine justice. Tenchu. 

        I spread out the futon with mindless automation, and slip under the blanket, shivering. 

        I can't sleep. 

~*~ 

        I hear him return in the early morning hours, when the dark is at its deepest. 

        I've been listening for him intently. I do not hear his footsteps, for when he does not want to be heard, only the grave is more silent. 

        Instead, I hear the sound of pouring water. Water sloshing, dripping... 

        Without another thought, I am standing, wrapping my shawl around me because of the night chill, and heading towards the sound. It is coming from near the kitchen. The wash room. 

       I slide open the door... and he is standing there on the dirt floor, his hands plunged up to his wrists in a bucket of water.

       Washing his hands. Washing. He doesn't even acknowledge my presence at all. 

        How long has he been at this? How long, before I finally heard him from his room? For I can see that he has already emptied two wash buckets, and the water in the bucket before him is clear, yet still he scrubs at his hands... trying to wash away blood that only he can see... 

        "Himura," I whisper. "Do you... intend to go on murdering people forever?" 

        He does not answer. I know he hears me. 

        And, looking at his eyes, heavy with resignation... I think he knows that he is slowly going mad; that, with each new death, his soul is decaying within him, bit by bit... 

        Yet even so, there is a determination within him... a determination that, before he loses himself completely, he will do everything he can to bring about this "better life" for others... 

         _I do what needs to be done._

        There is no joy in this for him, no pleasure... I can see that now. 

        He doesn't look at me. He doesn't speak. He just stares at his hands... and washes, over and over and over... 

        All I can do is watch. 

        And wish, suddenly... that I knew him before... 

~*~ 

        I am moving through my daily chores like a mindless wraith. My head feels hollow and heavy, and my movements are sluggish as I work purely on instinct, barely aware of what I am doing. I am so tired... 

        There was nothing I could do. Nothing I could say to him last night that could change anything. In my weariness, I finally left him, returning to his room alone, only to immediately slip into the dark comforting oblivion of an exhausted, dreamless sleep. 

        I do not know how long he stood there, washing his hands, but I can't help but think, from the look on his face, that he could not have done enough to satisfy him. But however long he stood there, he must have gone back out into the night when he was through. 

        It is almost noon, and I have passed by his room several times... but he is not there. 

        Where could he have gone? Why has he not returned? What is he thinking? 

        So lost am I in these thoughts that I nearly run into Iidzuka-san as I turn the corner of the hallway. 

        "Whoa, pardon me, Tomoe-san," he says, stumbling back a step to avoid the collision. 

        I offer him a hasty bow. "Sumimasen," I apologize. "I'm afraid I was not paying attention." 

        He brushes off my apology with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it." He looks down at me with those sagging eyes. The smile on his thin face seems friendly enough... yet, there is something underneath it that makes me... uneasy. "You're just the person I was looking for anyway," he says. "I've been meaning to ask you something." 

        "Indeed?" I ask, looking at him with my calm mask in place, though my mind is whirling. What could he possibly want to talk to me about? Most of the Ishin Shishi who frequent this inn speak to me rarely, and only then if it is concerning the service of meals. I suspect they are afraid to approach me more often, simply because of my association with Himura. 

        "It's about Battousai," Iidzuka-san says. 

        I wince inwardly. I despise the nickname they have given him; a word that praises his efficiency and method of killing. Even worse is that he seems to have accepted it for himself. My distaste at hearing him referred to by this name, that goes hand in hand with his title of Hitokiri, burns through my worry about being questioned. "If it is about Himura-san," I respond, deliberately referring to him by his most respectful name, "then would you not be better informed by putting your question to him?" 

        He raises an eyebrow at me in surprise for a moment, before chuckling. "Perhaps I would, since you seem to be even more evasive in answering than he is." He shakes his head. "But in this instance, I don't think he could answer my question, even if he wanted to." 

        Thin threads of fear begin to steal through my heart. Has he seen through my charade? Has he surmised my original purpose in coming here? 

        "What I want to know is, what did you say to him yesterday?" 

        I blink. That wasn't a question I was expecting at all. "Pardon?" 

        "You know," Iidzuka-san says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "After I gave him the black envelope. I saw the two of you talking in the hallway." 

        My relief that he is not questioning me about my past is dampened with the onset of a new sort of dread. So... Iidzuka-san is the one who delivers the demands of death. The tall, lanky man before me has suddenly lost his air of harmlessness. "I am afraid I do not understand," I say with a quiet tone of deferring politeness, "how our private conversations could be of any consequence to you." 

        "But they are," he says, still smiling. "Battousai is my responsibility. Kogoro-sama assigned me to watch out for him. And he's been acting strange, ever since your little conversation in the hallway. Hell, even before that, but whatever you said yesterday... I didn't think it was possible for him to become even more quiet and anti-social than he already was, but what ever you said to him sure did the trick." 

        I regard him evenly. "I am still not sure I understand how this affects you." 

        "It _wouldn't_ affect me," he responds, smoothing his thin moustache in an absent gesture with one finger, "except for one thing. Last night, on his assignment, he seemed to be... off a bit." 

        A chill ripples across my skin at the reminder of the dark deeds of the previous night. "'Off?'" I repeat quietly. 

        "Yeah. Don't get me wrong, he still got the job done, and anyone else probably wouldn't have noticed. But I've been watching him do his job for over a year now, and I can tell. His skill with the sword was just... off." 

        I look at him silently, not knowing how to respond. _You watch?_ I want to ask incredulously. _You stand back and let him kill, and take mental notes on how good he is at ending life with a flash of his blade?_

        "You don't like what he does, do you," he says suddenly, looking at me with a slightly bemused expression. It is not a question, and it takes me off guard. 

        I cannot respond. All the replies coming to my lips are less than polite. 

        Iidzuka-san shrugs in the face of my silence. "Oh well, maybe it really isn't any of my business. Who am I to interfere with lovers' quarrels? I need to track down Battousai anyway." And so saying, he straightens and fiddles with his sleeve for a moment... 

        ...allowing me to catch a glimpse of black envelope he has kept concealed within. 

        My heart plummets within me. 

        Another one. So soon. So soon... 

        I must have gone pale, because he regards me with something almost akin to seriousness. "You knew what he was when he brought you here, Tomoe-san," he says. "And I'm sure you must have your reasons for staying. But I'll tell you one thing. If you keep messing with his mind like that, you're going to get him killed eventually." 

        He says it so casually that, for a startled moment, it almost sounds like encouragement. 

        But no... his expression is grim, his droopy eyes heavy-lidded, as he turns from me and walks away, leaving me to wonder at his words... 

~*~ 

        Once again, I sit alone in his room as the evening swallows the day with darkness. 

        I should write in my diary. But my thoughts and feelings seem so muddled and confused... I do not even know what to write. 

        Himura has been gone all day. Or, if he has returned, he has kept himself well hidden from my sight. 

        The thought... pains me. And the very fact that it does... 

        No. It cannot be. To even think such a thing... 

        I wonder if he has even had a chance to sleep, since the night before. He must be tired... 

        I wonder if Iidzuka-san found him, to give him the latest... assignment. 

        All these thoughts whirl in my head so overwhelmingly that I feel faint. I raise a trembling hand to my forehead to ease the ache that throbs behind my eyes, but it does no good... 

        Ah, what am I doing here? Why can't I understand what is happening to me? 

        It should be so simple. My mind tells me that I have come to bestow vengeance on the murderer of my beloved. 

        And yet... with every rare moment spent with him, my soul is tossed about, like a paper boat lost at sea amidst a raging tempest. Each quiet word he speaks, each glance from his amber eyes, drives the memory of revenge from me until I am filled only with him, and the agony of his existence. And the pain is so exquisite. Beautiful and terrible all at once... 

        Just like him... 

        I... I cannot think on this more. I cannot... 

        I... have some sewing that needs to be done. Quickly, I gather my materials. A tattered garment. My needle cushion. Spindles of scarlet thread. Before I kneel to my task, I light the tall red sandalwood lamp on the floor before me, the warm light of flame shining through its paper screens illuminating the small room, chasing away the shadows of fading twilight. 

        Within moments, I lose myself in the rhythmic preciseness of moving the silver needle. Guided by my hands, it bites in and out of the worn yukata, a thread of silk flying behind, mending the fabric with tiny, perfectly even stitches, binding it together so that it is whole once again. When I am finished, I move on to the next garment. And the next... 

        I am startled out of the comforting monotony by a soft knock at the door. 

        I look up from my sewing. "Yes?" 

        The door slides open, to reveal a man... 

         _...tall, handsome, with the face of a god and the bearing of an emperor..._

        My eyes widen slightly. Okami-san was right... 

        "Kogoro-san, I presume," I say with a polite bow of my head, which does much to conceal my surprise. 

        He smiles an acknowledgment. "Sorry for coming so late," he says. "May I intrude for a moment?" 

        As if I could say otherwise. "If you are looking for Himura-san," I say with a calm that belies my sudden inner fear, "he is out tonight." 

        "I know," he says, kneeling across from me. "I am his boss. I coordinate everything that he does." 

        His words bring my heart to a dead standstill. 

        Iidzuka-san might deliver Himura the message of death... but this man before me is the one who composes it... who writes the name of a man of a sheet of paper, and places it in a black envelope, sentencing him to die at the hands of a fifteen year old boy. 

        And he has come to talk to me. He must know how I have been affecting his prize killer. Iidzuka-san must have told him... 

        I am barely able to keep my voice steady. "Why have you come to see me?" 

        He looks at me in silence for a long moment. His intelligent eyes seem to peer right through me, and it takes all my self control not to fidget under his scrutiny. "Tell me," he says, "have you ever heard of Yoshida Shoin?" 

        Surprised as I am at the direction he has chosen to take the conversation... the name strikes a familiar chord in me. As I think on it, I realize that it is a name that I heard my father curse on more than one occasion. Yoshida Shoin, he raged, was a radical-minded foreign-loving fool, and the leader of fools. 

        "I believe," I respond cautiously, "that I may have heard his name in passing." 

        He nods and closes his eyes briefly. When he looks at me again, his gaze is clear and intense. "He was a great teacher. He believed in freedom and individuality -- not just for the ruling class... but for everyone. Man, woman and child, whether they be samurai, merchant, or peasant." He speaks, his voice low, but thick with passion. "I had the great honor of studying at his feet for two years at the Shokason School... myself, and eighty other students. After two years, he sent us out to try and bring about this change... to try and create a new Japan. A Japan that is kind to _all_ her people, and not to just a select few. 

        "But, we found that not everyone craves freedom for all, as we do. Many of my comrades were killed for trying to bring about such a radical change. Yoshida Shoin, our beloved teacher... was killed in a mass execution that was kept quiet." He pauses a moment, and I see a brief flicker of unspeakable grief in his expression. 

        "One thing that Yoshida-sensei taught us," he continues, "was that at the end of the Tokugawa's 300 year reign, this era of the Shogunate rule will be thrown into chaos, and be no more. To accomplish the job of constructing a new era, we, also, must be thrown into disorder. The Choshu way is to embrace the chaos, to use it to destroy the old order, that a new one might be built in its place. The chaos that exists now is the strength that moves the Choshu Group. 

         "Sometimes..." he says quietly, looking down at his hands, "it seems hopeless. We Choshu Ishin Shishi are outnumbered by the Bakufu forces, so, at the moment, a direct conflict to settle our disputes is out of the question. On top of that, we are at odds with the Satsuma clan, when they should be our staunchest allies." He sighs wearily. "But... Yoshida Shoin taught that 'Sincerity and perseverance always win.' And I believe that. We must persevere, no matter what. And our hearts must always remain pure and sincere in our goal." 

        He lifts his head once again to look me in the eye. "Himura has the purest heart I've ever known," he says. "And yet, he has been given the cruelest job of all. He must act as the guardian of Chaos." 

        He falls silent. But I can see the question in his eyes as he looks at me. _Do you understand? Can you see why this has to be?_

        I... I don't know. 

        His goals... I never really understood, before, what the Ishin Shishi were after; why these men chose to fight against the established order. 

        But... freedom... for all... 

        It is a strange new concept to me. 

        And... it feels... 

        I... must think on this. 

        "So," I say after a long moment. "Having said all this... what is it that you want me to do?" 

        He sighs heavily, and shakes his head slightly. "I won't tell you what to do. I... just thought I'd let you know what we're doing. You deserved to hear it from me, since I am the one responsible." And with that, he stands and bows. "Thank you for listening. Please excuse me." 

        I sit in unmoving silence for a long time after he leaves me alone with my thoughts. 

        Then... I put away my sewing, and pull out my diary, my ink stone, and brushes. 

        I have something to write about after all. And I believe I am thinking more clearly than I was before... 

~*~ 

        Himura came back this morning. When I walked by his room after breakfast, he was there, sleeping against the window bench. 

        And I was almost not surprised at how relieved I was to see him there again... 

        The rest of the day passed in a blur as I worked in silence, pondering Kogoro-san's words of the night before... 

        "Thank you," says Okami-san, startling me out of my thoughts as I put away the last of the dinner trays. "You don't have any more chores for today." 

        I nod my thanks. I am glad to be able to return to Himura's room. I have had a lot to think about, and I am anxious to record my thoughts on paper. Writing, I have always found, helps me to clarify what I am feeling, and put it into focus. 

        I slide open the door anxiously... and stop in my tracks. 

        Himura is still in the room. 

        I stare at him in surprise, and find myself suddenly unsure what to do. This is the first time that I have returned to his room at day's end, to find him still within. Usually by this time, he has already fled for the evening, slipping out the window, leaving me to occupy his room alone. 

        He is still sleeping... 

        He must be exhausted. I think this is the first chance he has had to sleep since I saw him with that first black envelope two days ago... 

        I... I believe I understand what Kogoro-san told me. That Himura is the guardian of the Code of Chaos. That he is the one who bears the blood of the slain Shogunate leaders, so that the leaders of the Ishin Shishi can keep their hands clean as they struggle to construct a new era from the ashes of the old. 

        Well. I must think more about that. But all of that aside, I do know that Kogoro-san was right about one thing. 

        Himura has been given the cruelest job of all. 

        Looking at his sleeping face now, the setting sun casting fiery light and shadow on his young, scarred features... I still see a boy that has yet to become a man. 

        And he looks... so tired... 

        Without thinking, I slip my shawl from around my shoulders, and walk up to him silently. 

        Gently, I lean over to wrap my shawl around his shoulders. 

        His eyes snap open. Wild, and full of fury -- 

        -- and I don't even have time to blink as he snarls, his teeth bared, his eyes blazing with the most terrifying madness as he grabs me by the front of my kimono, and his sword is already at my neck and-- 

         _I am dead. I am dead. I am--_

        A tremendous blow to my chest knocks me to the floor... and as I instinctively struggle to sit up, to back away, to flee from my death... I see him standing, his blade buried in the hard, thick leather of the back of his left hand guard, his palm still outstretched from where he blocked his own strike even as he pushed me away... 

        And then... he keels over, almost sinking to his knees, wide-eyed and shaking, clutching his sword hand as if fearful that it might attack again with a will of its own... 

        I am paralyzed with terror, even as my mind struggles to comprehend what I am seeing... that I am still alive... that his blade never even touched my throat... 

        ...though it came... so... close... 

        Himura is standing over me... and as I look up into his face, I am surprised to see a stark fear in his wide, horrified eyes that matches my own. 

        "I'm sorry," he gasps hoarsely. "I'm sorry..." 

        The desperate anguish of his apology stuns me to the point where I almost forget my fright. 

        He is trembling, sweating, as he shakes his head with a fierce, sharp movement, as if to shed some last trace of lingering bloodlust. He staggers back with a groan, to sink heavily onto the window bench. 

        "I... I say that I don't kill civilians, but... I almost just did. I almost..." His breathing is ragged and heavy. "You need to leave this place," he whispers. "If you don't, then someday, I might really..." 

        He trails off with a choking sound that is almost a sob. 

        The sound pierces through my fading terror, right to my heart. And, as I look into his shadowed face, I can see all too clearly that the killing demon within him has fled for the moment, leaving him hollow, shaken... and alone... 

        Suddenly, I understand exactly what Okami-san was feeling when, on that first day, she wept for this boy... 

        You didn't know, did you, Himura? You were just a child who saw suffering all around you. You wanted to help, and you thought you knew what you were getting in to when you agreed to become the Ishin Shishi assassin; what price you would have to pay... 

        ...but you didn't, did you? 

        And now I can see you drowning in a morass of death and blood and madness before my eyes. 

        The murderous rage that flashed across his face in that brief instant brings up the memory of my original purpose in being here, from where I buried it in the depths of my confusion. 

        Ah... Akira-san, my beloved... What should I do? Upon your grave, I promised you vengeance. I swore to you that I would destroy the Hitokiri who had cut your life so short-- 

        I freeze as, with that single thought... another path opens up before me. A path so simple and clear that I almost gasp aloud with realization. 

        Himura sits, his shoulders tense, his head bowed in guilt and remorse, even as he holds on to his sword with a white-knuckled grip, as if it were his only comfort... 

        ...and suddenly, I know what I must do. 

        Picking my shawl up from off the floor, I stand on unsteady feet. The all-too-fresh memory of his burning eyes and the whispering brush of his blade's razor edge against my throat almost makes me falter in my resolve. 

        Almost. 

        I approach him carefully... and place my shawl on his lap. 

        He glances up at me, startled. 

        "You need a sheath... to suppress the madness," I whisper gently. "So... let me stay with you for the time being." 

        He looks down and stares uncertainly at the shawl in his lap for a long moment. 

        Then... slowly... he releases the hilt of his sword... and grasps the silken cloth tightly in his fingers. He pulls it to him hesitantly, yet clutching it like a life line, as if both afraid and hopeful of what it might mean... 

        "Tomoe-san," he whispers at last. "You... asked me before... if you had a sword in your hand, if I would kill you or not..." 

        His head is lowered, and his scarlet hair hangs about his face, so that I can no longer see his expression. 

        "The answer... is... No. I won't kill you. No matter what the circumstances, I won't kill you, ever." His voice is low and hoarse with emotion. And as he speaks, I can't help but wonder... or hope... if perhaps a hint of warm violet might be softening the cold amber of his hidden eyes... 

        "Not you," he vows quietly. "Ever." 

        With the utterance of his solemn promise, a deep, aching warmth fills my heart, joining with my new resolve. 

        You see, Beloved... now it truly begins. You shall be avenged. 

        Such an unusual kind of vengeance... trying to restore the conscience to the tattered, wounded soul of this young man... 

        It is, perhaps, more difficult and less sure than my original long-abandoned desire; my plan to discover his weakness, that I might betray him to his enemies... 

        But... if I can help him... if I can soothe the madness that is devouring him... perhaps even ease it from him entirely... would not the Hitokiri be destroyed just as surely? 

        Destroy the killer, while saving the man. And, looking at him now as he sits silently with his head bowed, holding my shawl in his hands as if it were the most precious thing on earth... I think I finally catch a glimpse of the gentle spirit that lies beneath all the shrouding layers of blood and death. 

        And I believe it is possible. 

        You were always so gentle and compassionate, Akira-san. 

        I think you would approve of this strange vengeance of mine... 

~*~ 

End of The Snow Raven 


End file.
